


I'll Be In My Mobile Respiteblock

by Phenomenon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, canon events, canon pairings - Freeform, change of subject media, not-so-canon pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenomenon/pseuds/Phenomenon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homestuck is a primetime television show about kids and fun.  On-set and off-set drama ensues for all parties involved.  (Written with a prompt from the Homestuck kink meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt can be found [here.](http://homesmut.livejournal.com/15949.html?thread=32798541#t32798541)  
> This fic will follow the comic chronologically, but there will be some skipping ahead for the sake of time. What this means is that trolls will show up, but not for a while. The names of the actors were literally taken straight from a name generator. They mean nothing; I chose them because they sounded okay.  
> A very big thank you to my good friend Nitro for agreeing to beta this for me. You have been a wonderful help already!

** Day 1 of filming for the television series “Homestuck”, Episode 1:  Pilot **

  
“A young man stands in his bedroom.”  
  
The male voice resounded from the speakers as every camera focused on the only actor currently on the bedroom set: a boy in his early teens with square-framed glasses and a prominent overbite.  He looked around at nothing in particular, eventually resting his gaze on the camera directly in front of him as the voice-over spiel ended with, “What will the name of this young man be?”  
  
A soothing female voice answered the male voice a few seconds later with the simple suggestion: “Zoosmell Pooplord.”  
  
The boy scrunched up his face as if he’d been hit.  Scowling, he retorted, “Try again, smartass!”  
  
“John Egbert,” the female’s voice-over replied.  The boy’s scowl melted, instantly replaced with a satisfied smile.  
  
“And cut!”  Sitting not even ten feet away was the director, a short-statured and pale man.  His head was clean-shaven, and he was dressed as if he were headed to a high-end restaurant or bar.  He smiled a small, knowing smile, one that made him look as if he were quietly enjoying the world’s greatest joke, to which only he knew the punchline.  “That was a good take, Jeff.”  
  
“Thank you sir,” the boy, Jeff, replied in a voice that did not even remotely match the one he was using previously.  
  
“Why don’t you take five and we’ll move on to the next scene?”  
  
Jeff nodded and headed off-set while members of the crew ushered in new props for the next scene.  As the director flipped through the next few scenes in the script, he noticed a shadow in front of him.  Looking up, the owner of the shadow was none other than the voice of his male narrator.  
  
“Hussie,” he greeted him curtly.  Andrew did not even bother to properly respond.  
  
“How was the take?” he asked, clearly searching for approval.  
  
“It was fine.  If it wasn’t fine, I would have asked you to run it again.”  
  
“Okay, just making sure.”  The narrator immediately fell silent and rocked back on his heels, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.  The director stared at him expectantly; waiting for him to say something, anything more.  When the few seconds of silence carried on, he started to return to his script.  
  
“Well, if that’s all…”  
  
“Wait a minute, Doc,” Andrew started again, pulling a sheaf of papers seemingly from out of his back pocket.  The director stared at the papers as if they would bite him, which was possible in a less literal sense when it came to the scripts he’d been reading recently.  
  
“What, pray tell, is that?” the director asked in a no-nonsense tone.  “Furthermore, why did you call me Doc?  That is not my name, nor is it my title.”  
  
“Oh, right.  Sorry, Scratch.  That’s the name I chose for your character, and it--”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Just hurry up and read the script!” Andrew said, dropping the ragtag mess of a script on top of the one currently in Scratch’s hands.  The director, looking considerably more exasperated by the second, shuffled the papers and began to read.  Andrew looked on quietly, making small jittery movements every so often.  After about a minute, Scratch looked up into Andrew’s eagerly awaiting gaze.  
  
“You wrote me into the show…” he began in a voice full of controlled anger, “…as a narrator character.”  
  
“Well he’s more than just a narrator,” Andrew said defensively, moving to stand behind the director’s right shoulder and point things out in his script.  “His name is Doc Scratch, he’s like this creepy devil-type suave puppet that has a thing for little girls--”  
  
“Let me just stop you right there,” the director said over him, taking a glance at his watch to make sure filming was still on schedule.  “First, I will never understand why you adamantly continue to use this puppet motif in the series.  Don’t say ‘because it’s funny,’” he added quickly as Andrew’s mouth opened to say those very words before being cut off.  “Secondly, I do not want to even begin to guess what characteristics of mine lead you to fashion a character that is comparable to both Satan and your average pedophile.”  
  
“Uh, well…”  
  
“Please don’t respond to that.”  Scratch gathered the papers with an air of finality and held them out to Andrew.  “Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, there are already two narrator characters, one of which is played by you.  By the way, have I told you how wildly self-indulgent I think that is?”  
  
“Only every other five seconds,” Andrew muttered.  
  
“That isn’t even counting the self-insert scenes that are looming in my future.  I am already bracing myself for the nights of sleep I’ll lose trying to fix the several pacing problems that will cause.”  He took a deep breath.  “My point being, I think this new character is ridiculous, I hate that there is nothing that I can do about that, I hate that you know that there is nothing I can do about that and lord it over me every opportunity you get, and as a director, I hate having to work with you on a daily basis.  Now get back in the sound booth; we’re at places.”  
  
Andrew was taken aback by the sudden tirade, but he still managed to look haughty while snatching his script back, even throwing in a sharp “Ha!” before turning heel and marching over to the sound booth.  Scratch pinched the bridge of his nose and told himself for the hundredth time that he would never work with a writer-producer again in his career.  
  
“Places for the next scene!” one of the director’s assistant’s called out.  The crew disappeared back behind all the camera lenses while Jeff returned to the bedroom set.  Several three-layered cakes have joined the other props.  
  
“Take one,” a film technician with a clapperboard announced.  
  
“Action!”  
  
“John, eat cake,” the female voice spoke.  Jeff glanced at the cake nearest him and flinched.  
  
“You are sick to DEATH of cake!!!”  Andrew’s voice boomed through the speakers, creating grating feedback and causing everyone not wearing a pair of headphones to grimace.  
  
“Cut!” the director said.  He reached over and picked up a microphone that was connected to the sound booth.  “Hussie, we don’t want John to sound like he is going to go on a murderous rampage because of cake.”  
  
Andrew’s exasperated sigh flickered through the static in the headphones.  “But I was thinking--”  
  
“There’s your problem.  Stop thinking and do it again, but this time don’t make it sound like garbage.”  He cut the connection off with the booth before Andrew’s protests could reach him.  “Again,” he told the crew.  
  
“Take two!” announced the film technician.  
  
“Action!”  
  
So the scene went for a second time.  The difference between Andrew’s delivery of the lines was day and night.  Raging anger had transformed to seething anger bubbling just below the surface.  Scratch was wearing that knowing smile again.  
  
 **Day 3 of filming Episode 1**  
  
“How long am I supposed to keep on the disguise?” asked Jeff, his voice a bit muffled by the large mustache.  
  
“Until the strife scene with Dad,” answered Scratch.  “You take it off once to check the mail.”  
  
“Ah.  Okay.”  Jeff fell silent and fidgeted.  
  
“Will that be a problem?”  
  
“No, it just tickles my lip,” Jeff answered, cracking a smile hidden behind his new lip fur.  
  
“We’ll try to get through these scenes quickly.  Let’s get set.”  
  
The clever disguise sequence started out well enough.  Jeff exited the room and stood out in the hallway awkwardly while the narration droned on.  From that point, however, the problems arose.  A giggling spell on the stairs (which almost led to falling down them), outright guffawing at the giant harlequin present, a bit of a prop malfunction with the burning of the magazine, and several takes later, they made it to the last few scenes with the Groucho Marx getup.  
  
With Jeff now standing in front of the piano in the study, the director couldn’t help but acknowledge the apprehension he was feeling.  The original plan was to have Jeff fake the song and add it to the soundtrack in post-editing, but Jeff was surprisingly insistent on playing the song himself.  He had agreed to it then, but now that it was finally showtime he was really feeling the pressure, especially since he had never heard this boy play before.  Those apprehensions melted away almost immediately after Jeff began the song.  The haunting refrain was a beautiful piece in itself, but Jeff brought a sense of finesse and skill to it that was well beyond his years.  The entire crew was in frozen silence by the time the song ended.  Even the director was too mesmerized to call “cut”, only coming back to his senses after Jeff asked if the take was okay.  
  
“Yes, that will do,” Scratch replied as nonchalantly as he could.  No matter how impressed he was, he wanted to keep that professional and impartial demeanor, especially around the kids.  
  
 **Day 4 of filming Episode 1**  
  
It was around the middle of filming the mailbox scene, whilst staring at Jeff who was staring at a brilliant blue sky, when Scratch truly began to assess his situation.  This script was an atrocity, the likes of which he’d never seen in his career.  The concept was no doubt revolutionary, but where was the line between innovative and brash, and was this television series truly the correct way to step into this uncharted territory?  The pilot episode was going to be innocent and full of cheap laughs, but future episodes (and future seasons if Hussie got his way) were going to step on some toes.  He chanced a look at the writer now, whom was also staring at Jeff, but wore the look of a father watching his child take their first steps.  How he longed to wipe the smug look off his face permanently.  A good way to do that would be to wreck this series from the inside out, but he would rather not have that blemish on his resume.  He decided that he would continue to be an excellent director; he would make this show not only watchable but addicting.  Homestuck as his magnum opus would surely burn Hussie up, and he could not wait.  
  
First things first, though.  He needed to get this pilot episode off the ground.  
  
 **Day 5 of filming Episode 1**  
  
Finally, they had come to the end of filming for the first episode.  The clever disguise lay abandoned on the kitchen floor, covered in pie remnants.  Jeff was now accompanied on-set with the actor playing John’s Dad, a man twice Jeff’s height with a contagiously pleasant disposition.  In one of his hands he balanced a ridiculously large cake.  
  
“Before we get started, I just wanted to let you know that it’s an honour to work with you, Mr. Wilcox.” Jeff said.  
  
“Please, just call me Gordon.  Mr. Wilcox is my father,” he answered the boy with a smile.  
  
Jeff nodded.  “Yes, sir.”  
  
Gordon laughed and patted Jeff on the shoulder with his free hand.  “The world could use more polite kids like you!”  
  
Scratch picked up his megaphone and cut it on.  “Cue the music,” he droned through the instrument.  Peppy chiptune fight music blared through the speakers a few seconds later.  Gordon assumed a generic fighting stance, but Jeff looked up at the speakers, wearing a somewhat confused expression.  
  
“Is everything alright?” Scratch called to Jeff via megaphone.  
  
“Sure, but…”  Jeff stifled giggles.  “It’s just that…this music doesn’t quite put me in the mood to fight anybody.”  
  
“Oh?”  The director raised an eyebrow.  “And in what sort of mood does it put you?”  
  
Jeff shrugged nervously and looked off to the side, where a girl with whom he shared a striking resemblance stood.  She gave him a reassuring smile before rushing onto the set and taking hold of his hands.  
  
“A dancing mood!” she offered, and commenced swinging Jeff around in an impromptu partner’s dance.  Gordon chuckled at the two kids’ antics, setting his cake down to clap along with the music.  Soon, the rest of the crew was clapping along as well, save for a few exceptions, the director and his assistant included.  
  
Amongst the hubbub of the surprise dance number, said assistant leaned over to whisper to Scratch, “No cracking the proverbial whip to save on film time?”  
  
Scratch made a noncommittal noise.  “I run a tight ship, but it’s important to know when to let children be children.”  
  
The assistant smirked.  “Important to them, or important to you and the show?”  
  
“Do you even have to ask?”  
  
“Hah.”  The assistant sat back and joined in the applause that rang through the studio as the song ended.  Jeff’s last-minute dance partner scurried back off set while Gordon re-armed himself with the large cake.  
  
“If we’ve properly taken care of our dancing moods,” Scratch resumed speaking through the megaphone despite the music being turned off, “let’s continue on with this last scene.”  
  
\--  
  
“Come in, Hussie.”  
  
Andrew stopped, poised to knock, and let the “what the fuck” moment pass before he cautiously opened the door, holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses in one hand.  “I still don’t understand how you can do that.”  
  
Scratch shrugged.  “Consider it being highly observant.”  He motioned to the champagne.  “I take it the viewing went well.”  
  
“If by ‘went well’ you mean the network bought every episode I have written so far, then hell fucking yes, it went well.”  He set one glass in front of Scratch and plopped himself down into a fluffy recliner.  
  
Scratch paused to raise an eyebrow as Andrew proffered the bottle to him before taking it and pouring himself a generous amount of the bubbling drink.  “That’s preposterous.  You’ve shown me at least five seasons’ worth of episodes.”  
  
“By the time I’m done with this, there’s gonna be at least seven seasons.”  There was that smug, all-knowing glint in Hussie’s eye that Scratch loathed so much.  He was holding out his glass, waiting for Scratch to pour him a round.  Scratch obliged him and picked up his own glass, swirling the drink around contemplatively.  
  
“Far be it from me to speculate what sort of mysterious voodoo happened with the combination of my directing and your writing to make corporate big wigs take such a brazen risk.”  He looked up from his glass in time to see Hussie to finish gulping down his champagne and pour himself another.  Scratch scoffed.  “To think that they were even compliant with the more controversial characters that will appear later…”  
  
“They thought that was the best shit ever!”  Andrew laughed, spilling a bit of champagne on himself.  
  
“It appears that you don’t hold your alcohol well.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Scratch rolled his eyes and raised his glass.  “Not before I toast to our new future endeavors.”  He quickly downed the whole glass and began refilling.  “And simultaneously curse my terrible luck for being stuck with you and your crazy pet project.”  
  
Andrew eyed him as if he were a tantrum-throwing child.  “If you’re just going to bitch about it, feel free to quit.  I’ll find some other psycho director.”  
  
Scratch firmly set down his empty glass with a hollow _clink_.  “Not on your life.” 


	2. My People Will Call Your People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the first few episodes of Homestuck being received even better than they initially expected, the cast and crew sit down for an exclusive interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am very sorry for the wait. There was no excuse for a chapter like this to take this long; I was just taking my sweet time. Secondly, if you'd like to visit my [tumblr,](http://thelphenom.tumblr.com) I will be making a tag specifically for this fic, so that you can follow my progress (and know that I am still working on it at all). I'd also like to remind you that the names mean nothing, nothing, nothing.
> 
> And lastly, to any readers that are hardcore Dave fans...I'm sorry.

“Good evening!”  A peppy, heavily made-up reporter with voluminous brown hair spoke into a handheld microphone bearing the insignia of an entertainment news program.  “This is Sophie Fuller reporting, and tonight I will be bringing you an exclusive behind-the-scenes look at primetime TV’s newest runaway hit:  Homestuck.  Join me as I talk with the stars of the show, as well as with the brains behind the operation, get a peek at some never-before-seen footage, and ask the questions that’ve been on everyone’s minds.  So stay tuned—let’s talk about Homestuck.”

The lights faded on Miss Fuller, her dazzling smile the last thing to be seen before a fade-in revealed two familiar kids sitting side by side.  The text at the bottom of the screen read “Jeffry and Judith Hanson”.  They both smiled and nodded to a figure just off-screen.

“Thanks for joining us,” Miss Fuller’s voice piped up from off-screen, “Why don’t you give us a short introduction?”

The two shared a glance before Jeff began to speak.  “Well sure.  My name is Jeff and this is my sister Judy.  We play John and Jade in Homestuck.”

A different girl was shown sitting in the place of Jeff and Judy.  She was of similar stature to Judy, but she had cropped blonde hair and softer facial features.  She smiled politely in the direction of Miss Fuller’s voice.  “My name is Ramona Mitchell, and I play Rose in Homestuck.”

A boy was now in the hot seat, looking bored and indifferent.  A pair of clunky headphones rested around his neck.  His eyes searched the room, looking at nothing in particular.  “Yeah, I’m Dillon Rhodes and I’m in Homestuck.”  The bored demeanor was still frozen on his face.  He seemed ready to leave it at that, until a barely audible voice hissed at him from off-screen.  He acknowledged the voice with a furrowed brow, then turned to Miss Fuller.  “Dave Strider,” he added quickly.

\--

“We are indeed twins,” Jeff was saying while Judy nodded in affirmation.  “We don’t always attend the same auditions nowadays because we haven’t been booked for the same gig since we were toddlers!”

“Yeah!” Judy butted in, “It’s a bit crazy how quickly my number one partner became my biggest competition!”

Jeff chuckled softly.  “That’s Hollywood for you.”

\--

“I was a little apprehensive about trying out for the part at first,” Ramona admitted, staring nervously at the floor, “It’s my first time doing any acting on such a large scale.  I’m really grateful for the opportunity now.  My agent and my parents get a laugh out of my pre-audition freak out every chance they get, but in my defense I was nervous about a lot of things!”

“Like what?” Miss Fuller prompted.

“Um,” Ramona faltered, blushing slightly.  “Having to drastically change my appearance, for one.  Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.  All I really had to do was cut my hair short and wear darker makeup.”  She shrugged.  “That’s not so bad.”

\--

“I had to go get a fake tan,” Judy answered, stifling giggles.

Jeff nodded.  “And it took more than one attempt to get the right color.”  He leaned forward in his seat.  “She is absolutely hilarious-looking when she’s ora--, ow!”  Quick as a flash, Judy had smacked her brother’s arm.

“We also had to wear eyeglasses,” Judy said in her sweetest voice, as if the previous event had never happened.

“Yeah, those are fake,” Jeff added, looking at Judy.  In unison, the two of them hooked their upper lips with a finger and pulled them up, showcasing their matching larger front teeth.  “Bud, da buck teef aw weel.” The translation blinked across the bottom of the screen:  the buck teeth are real.

\--

“I have to wear the aviators all the time, every day, everywhere.  Even inside.  Even when it’s dark.  Even when it rains.  And it has to be the same pair.”  Dillon is noticeably without said aviators for the interview.  “On the really sunny days I was worried I would get sunglass tan lines around my eyes, and then I would have to wear makeup even when I’m not filming, but we got some good sunblock, so it’s cool.”  Seemingly satisfied with this answer, he sighed and slumped back into his chair.

\--

“Do you think you’re anything at all like your characters?” Miss Fuller asked from off-screen.

Ramona put a dainty hand to her heart and chuckled, shaking her head.  “Rose is a strong, intuitive, and quirky girl who has one-upmanship battles with her mother while simultaneously not freaking out over being in mortal danger.  I’m a relatively normal girl with normal interests who happened to get lucky as an actress.  And I’m also the type to crack under pressure.  Were I John’s server player instead of Rose, that poor boy would be dead in his bathtub.”

\--

“We’re a little like them,” Judy answered, both her and her brother’s faces scrunched up differently in thought.

“I’ll go on the record now and say I can’t stand John’s taste in movies,” Jeff piped up.  “Perhaps it was because I made myself watch every one from the posters in his bedroom…and then every one he mentions to his friends thereafter…”  His face slowly contorted in disgust.  “And I had to find the part of me that truly, genuinely loved those movies.  For a couple of them, that was just plain impossible--”

“Little Monsters was a pile of sh--.” Judy began to say, though the very last word was covered by an obnoxious beep.  Jeff elbowed her, then leaned over and whispered to her quietly.

“Oh!”  Judy shot a guilty glance in Miss Fuller’s direction, giggling nervously.  “We…we can just edit that out in post, right?”

\--

“I don’t know what his deal is with irony, but rapping’s cool.  I think I’m pretty good at it.  I even write my own freestyles sometimes.  I thought about trying to be a rapper and an actor,” Dillon explained in his ever-constant monotone.

“But you’re not thinking about that anymore?” Miss Fuller inquired.

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

Dillon’s eyes glanced in the other corner again.  “Mama says rappers are hooligans.”

\--

“What are your costars like?” Miss Fuller prompted.

Dillon grunted and shrugged his shoulders.  “They’re okay most of the time.”  An awkward silence followed.

“Care to elaborate?” Miss Fuller asked.

Dillon paused, seeming to give it some thought.  “I like working with Ramona,” he said simply.

\--

“I’d forgotten how much fun it was to work with my sister,” Jeff admitted almost bashfully. He was thanked with a crushing hug from Judy.

“And Mr. Gordon is the nicest fake dad ever!  I bet he’d be a really great real dad if he had kids of his own,” Judy added while Jeff was still caught in her vice-like grip.

\--

“They’re such a great and supportive cast; I’m really lucky to be able to call them my friends,” said Ramona, smiling humbly.

“Does this even apply to Dillon?” asked Miss Fuller a little hesitantly.  Ramona paused, visibly surprised by the question, but apparently realizing that she was being watched and recorded, she recovered with a somewhat nervous giggle.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it apply to him?”

\--

“Dillon is a cool guy,” Jeff blurted, nodding a little too vigorously afterwards.  A couple of seconds passed.  Jeff turned to look at his sister expectantly.  She cleared her throat, a strained smile on her face, but said nothing.  “A cool guy,” Jeff reiterated.

\--

“Dillon Rhodes fit the role of Dave Strider to a T,” Andrew Hussie said matter-of-factly, leaning forward intently in his chair.  “And the other kids fit their roles perfectly as well.  Their dynamic on film is so great that it hardly matters at all what their dynamic off the set is.”

“Are you implying that the actors don’t get along off-set?” came Miss Fuller’s lightning-fast reply.

Not missing a beat, Andrew replied, “That is a baseless accusation and you should be ashamed for even thinking about stuffing those words in my mouth.”  He was completely straight-faced.

\--

“At work, Mr. Hussie moves around almost like a hummingbird.  He’s very quick, and sometimes it almost seems like he is in two places at once!  Most days, I just try to stay out of his way,” Ramona said.

\--

“He’s nice to talk to, and very intelligent, but we like to stay out of his way—especially when he gets in bouts with Mr. Scratch,” Jeff said.

“They fight like married people.  Or parents,” Judy added.  The two of them nodded solemnly.

\--

Scratch sat in his chair, back completely straight, wearing a business-like demeanor.  “I certainly wouldn’t say that having the writer, producer, and several characters in the show being one person is serendipitous, but I seem to have worked it out optimally.”

“We’ve heard that it can get pretty tense between you and Mr. Hussie.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I continue to be an excellent director.”

Miss Fuller coughed, clearly uncomfortable with the pompousness.  A shuffling of papers was heard.  “We also heard a little rumor that Mr. Hussie wrote you into the show.  Confirm or deny?”

Scratch shook his head slowly and looked at her as if she were a disappointing child.  “My dear lady, I never expected such a fine, upstanding reporter like you, whom is employed by a prestigious news station such as this, to follow the flimsy lead of a common street rumor without first securing a proper source.”

A very even-toned Miss Fuller replied, “But see, this is why I decided to pursue a primary source:  you, Mr. Scratch.”

“Indeed, but did you stop to consider that the existence of contracts like a Disclosure Agreement would legally prevent me from confirming or denying such rumors, whether they were true or not?  And that the existence of my good reputation as a director would prevent me from sharing such a large spoiler in a simple interview, despite its—to quote you—‘exclusiveness?’”

A long, chilly silence followed.  Scratch was smiling that knowing smile again.

\--

“We also heard a little rumor that new characters in future episodes would be of the extra-terrestrial variety.”

“Oh…” a very confused-looking Ramona replied, “I don’t know anything about that.”

The reaction was the same for Dillon, Judy and Jeff.  They gave the same puzzled look, the same shrug.  Scratch was spared the question of another rumor.  Andrew, however, was an open book.

Almost.

\--

“Just look at it from a producer’s standpoint.  We are already looking at outrageous production costs from the special effects alone, which, might I mention, are only going to get grander as the show goes on.  On top of that, we would have to deal with Alternian casting directors, making sure the scripts are culturally sensitive, most likely making sure we abide by certain Alternian broadcasting laws…”

“Well, okay, but does that mean the rumor is true?”

“Hahaha, sure, let me just hand over my notes from the production meetings too, and tell you how the series ends while I’m at it, because it’s not like you’re watching this just like everyone else.  Right?”

The silence was broken only by Hussie’s laughter, still dripping with sarcasm.

\--

“Your character Jade has been ever the enigmatic so far, hasn’t she?”

Judy seemed ready to bounce out of her seat with excitement.  “Yeah, but it’ll all make sense soon!  Everyone just has to be a little more patient!”

Miss Fuller chuckled.  “You sound a little like her right now!”

Judy smirked.  “I technically am, though!”

“Yes, so you are.  Why don’t you tell us a little about the clip we’re going to see?”

“Well, it’s an introduction sequence for Jade,” she explained, her hands moving animatedly.  “You’ll basically see the same setup as the introductions of John, Rose, and Dave…with a little bit of a twist!”

\--

As the interview room faded out, a clip faded into its place.  It showed Judy, sporting her character’s round spectacles, curled up and asleep on the floor of what looked to be a greenhouse.  There was a note tucked under her arm.

“A silly girl naps by her flowers,” Andrew’s unmistakable voice droned.  Judy did not stir, seemingly fast asleep as her introduction was read.  The camera zoomed on her face as a text box appeared over her head.  A cursor typed out the words “Farmstink Buttlass,” followed by a flashing question mark.

“Farmstink Buttlass?” the female narrator’s voice read.

“Uh…” Andrew hesitated while Judy slept peacefully, “I guess…I guess her name is Farmstink.”

The camera zoomed out.  “Wake up!” the female narrator prompted.  A computer-like finger pointer entered the shot and attempted to “click” Judy awake, but to no avail.  She flashed red with every click, but did not rouse at all.

“She is really down for the count!”  Andrew reported.  “It looks like she is holding some sort of note.”  The finger pointer clicked the note, which then dislodged itself from under Judy’s arm and flew towards the camera until it was close enough to be read.

Green, loopy letters revealed the message:  “farmstink????  that is incredibly silly and a little bit rude!!!!!!!  my name is…”

Another camera zoom and text box later, Farmstink’s name was properly corrected to Jade Harley.  The clip faded just as Judy was waking up and looking around.

\--

"That's all the time we have left!"  Miss Fuller was finally in front of the camera again, standing in the now-empty interview room.  "Thanks for joining us this evening, and be sure to tune in to 'Homestuck', every Friday night."

The camera zoomed out and the picture faded to black.  If the volume control and the timing were just right, a few of the audience members watching from home could hear Miss Fuller mutter, “No more director/writer interviews,” before her mic cut out.

 


End file.
